


The Mirror

by clk_boom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clk_boom/pseuds/clk_boom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dirk Strider, and you hate everything you see from your head to your toes because HE touched it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror

Your name is Dirk Strider. You really fucking hate that sometimes. You hate it when he is breathing it over you, or when he's calling it out in that beautifully strangled voice at the end.

Your hair is pale, and you often hate that, too. Like when he's holding you after and petting your hair. Like when he's whispering your god-awful name into it, broken only by grunts and a creak of the bed. Like when he's done with you and releases the grip he had on it. Like when he tangles his hand in it in the first place.

Your eyes are orange, and you wish they didn't exist. Because he stares into them in bed, as he presses you into the mattress and _keeps_ pushing. Because sometimes he says _They're just so fuckin' beautiful._ Because they're so like his red ones that just pierce you.

Your collarbones are prominent, which only brings you pain, because he's obsessed with them. Obsessed with leaving countless arced bruises where no one but the two of you will see. Obsessed with tracing the bones the same way your eyes rake over his fingers and tongue as he does so -- so, so, slowly.

Your hips are thin, and isn't that just disgusting. He digs his fingers in, uses them as little ledges and it feels like he's holding on for dear, dirty life. It's sickening when he wraps his arms around you from behind, all but resting on those very hips.

Your legs are thin, too, but strong. Despite all he puts them through. Despite jerking your knees apart to accommodate his hips. Despite pushing you to the ground to stare at the intricacies between his legs.

You snarl at the mirror, your naked form as your eyes drag down. You hate everything about it. You want to break the glass you stare into, but it wouldn't shatter the flesh.

His name is Dave Strider, and you could easily stop him taking you. But you don't, because deep down, you want this. You really fucking _want this_. It makes you tremble and you have to close your eyes for a minute just to shut out the want.

You hate the way he loves you. The little sighs that carry the words at 3AM. The murmurs into your awful _hair_ just as you drift asleep. He isn't really your brother, but you hate the way you've shared DNA -- biologically and in lazy, early morning rounds -- and he loves you all the more for it.

You hate everything about the way you love everything about him. The very way you despise your own eyes, you're enthralled with his. His skin. His breath. You hate how he just makes you fucking melt.

Because it lets you stand here and hate every inch of your body. It lets you despise everything about yourself. It lets you have a reason to. Not a good one. But good enough.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and that is the worst fate you know of.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this; I think I was just testing the waters after being away from writing for so long, as well as trying a new form of some jumpy, choppy imagery. I hope you like it and, uh, let me know what you think. I'm open to criticism!


End file.
